


what it's terrible at taking

by throughfire



Series: Buck and Eddie [1]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22547761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throughfire/pseuds/throughfire
Summary: It makes sense, though, that the feelings he has for Buck are as wild and reckless as Buck himself is. Eddie just doesn’t know how to handle them, how to take care of them and make them thrive inside of him, so he’s here. On the couch, exhausted under the effort of keeping those feelings from bursting through his skin and ruining everything.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Series: Buck and Eddie [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630543
Comments: 74
Kudos: 804





	what it's terrible at taking

Eddie hurts with how badly he’s longing. He hurts, because being near never seems to be _near enough_. Even when he’s touching Buck there is a barrier between them, a layer of oblivion because Buck doesn’t _know_ , and Eddie is holding back. His skin physically aches with how thinly it's stretched over his own emotions and straining to accommodate his heart, to keep it from spilling out from his fingertips anytime they brush against Buck.

He finds himself bruising so often these days. Invisibly. Quietly. In secret. Fingers to Buck's elbow to keep him from diving head-first after his recklessness into fires; palms to Buck's hips to maneuver around him in the kitchen; a knee to Buck's thigh when they're sat on the couch together, waiting to be called out again. Eddie hurts _everywhere_ , because he can’t keep himself from colliding and Buck just leans into every crash, trusts himself with Eddie and doesn't question it. He just smiles, and Eddie smiles back because he can't not, because the pain is worth it when it means that he is making Buck happy.

He doesn't spend many hours a week away from Buck. They are joined at the hip during shifts and they walk out of there together so often, and Eddie wouldn't want to have it any other way because despite it all - the longing and the aching and the illicit _wanting_ \- Buck is his best friend. The best person he knows. The only thing that would hurt more at this point would be to _not_ be able to bruise himself on Buck every day, to not have those smiles aimed his way and soothing the stinging.

Sometimes he thinks it’s all rather funny, because it doesn’t make any sense. _Eddie_ is the one who always has his shit together while Buck is the emotionally driven one who lets things consume him. Eddie is a former soldier and a father. He’s the calm and collected one who thinks things through before he acts on them, and who then acts _rationally_.

He thinks he might have thought for too long this time – that he’s gotten lost in his own mind and been derailed by emotions. It makes sense, though, that the feelings he has for Buck are as wild and reckless as Buck himself is. Eddie just doesn’t know how to handle them, how to take care of them and make them thrive inside of him, so he’s here. On the couch, exhausted under the effort of keeping those feelings from bursting through his skin and ruining everything.

He sighs, and presses a hand briefly over his eyes. It’s enough to drag Hen’s attention to him, though, because he can her the newspaper in her hands rustle, and when he moves his palm away again he’s met with her concerned gaze.

“Are you okay?” she’s asking, lowering the paper entirely to her lap. “Coming down with something?”

Eddie shakes his head, and berates himself for slipping like this, for allowing it all to get to him. It shouldn’t even be an issue – being in love with Evan Buckley is rather wonderful for anyone who doesn’t let their thoughts get in their own way.

“I’m fine, Hen,” he says, though he struggles to project his usual smile, the usual charm. It doesn’t even sound convincing to his own ears – lacks the effort he’s put in when it’s been Buck who’s asked him over the past few weeks. “I think I just need a good night’s sleep.”

She arches an eyebrow. It tells him that she’s offended by the lie, by the weak attempt at assurance, but to her credit she nods anyway. Pretends for his sake that she’s buying it and rises from the couch.

“I’m going to fix you some tea, alright?” she says, though it’s not a suggestion. Eddie nods, and finds his smile to be a bit more genuine, a bit more comfortable on his face.

He watches her move toward the kitchen, but his focus shifts away from her when Buck enters his field of vision. He’s stood by the sink and fishing two cups out of the cupboard when Hen grabs him by the arm. Hen must be saying something about Eddie to him, because a moment later Buck is glancing over Eddie’s way, a furrow between his brows and his hand suspended in the air, cup almost forgotten between his fingers.

Eddie closes his eyes against the scene, then, smiling to himself as he allows himself to sink further into the cushions behind him. Whatever Hen said to make Buck look so confused was definitely related to Eddie, to the concern Hen holds for him, and he appreciates that. He appreciates all of them – the family he has become a part of here.

A few minutes pass until he finally opens his eyes again. Buck’s hand is slipping in under Eddie’s knees, lifting them from the couch so that he can ease his way in under them, cup precariously held in his other hand. Once he’s comfortable beneath Eddie’s weight he hands the tea over, and then he grabs another cup from the table in front of them, letting scents of coffee and green tea mingle in the air.

“You’re okay, right?” he’s asking, tone light. The confusion from before is still lingering at the corners of his eyes, his mouth.

Eddie hums out a confirmation around the rim of the cup, soaking up all the comfort.

It makes Buck nod. He takes a sip of his coffee, curses its warmth under his breath, then says, “Thought so.”

Eddie looks at Buck over his own, invisibly bruised bones. Marvels at how Buck can be so painful and healing to be around all at once. He knows that he could take a step back, give himself some space, but he also knows that it wouldn’t help. He’d miss Buck too much, feel too much guilt at the prospect of making Buck confused and hurt in the wake of him. And Eddie likes Buck like this; clueless and without suspicion, thinking that everything is the way it’s always been. Because mostly, it is.

He takes in Buck’s features; the slope of that nose, the cut of that jawline and the casual intimacy when Buck rests his forearms over Eddie’s knees and sinks back into the cushions with him. Lets his heart hurt while it commits the image to memory, then swallows and says, “Christopher and I are having pizza night tonight.”

Buck looks over at him, hope already budding in those beautiful eyes because he’s bright like that. Open. Isn’t afraid of what he’s feeling.

“You should come,” Eddie adds on. “If you want to. If you’re not busy.”

“ _Hell_ yes,” Buck grins. He doesn’t miss a beat. “I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

*

Eddie’s on the couch again, though it’s his own couch in his own home this time, and it’s hours later. It’s dark outside and it’s dark behind his eyelids; the room only lit in a faint orange glow when he opens his eyes at the sound of incoming footsteps.

He’s lying down, on his side and pressed against the back of the commiserating piece of furniture when Buck comes into his view, and he’s thankful for the way it doesn’t let him tumble and fall or tremble to pieces under Buck’s soft gaze.

Buck’s smiling at him, small and private and _so soft_ in the warm light.

“Chris is out like a light,” he’s saying quietly, moving closer until he reaches Eddie on the couch. Eddie has a moment to refamiliarize himself with Buck’s scent – draw in a lungful of it to savor in his hollow chest – before confusion hits him so hard that it punctures him and leaves him empty again.

Buck’s fitting himself on the couch with Eddie, balancing on his side at the very edge while he aligns them from toe to shoulder. He’s still smiling that smile, still looking at Eddie with that softness in his gaze, and Eddie is too shaken by the turn of events to question any of it – his thoughts too muddled by the wash of heat and the skin-on-skin contact of their arms to say anything at all. Buck smells so _good_ without smoke clinging to him; is so warm and so soft and so right next to Eddie that it makes his heart twinge painfully with another wave of _want_ that would make him curl in protectively on himself if there had been any room left on the couch.

All he does is blink, though. Thinks he’s losing his grip entirely – that his eyes may be a bit wet. He doesn’t know how to fight any of it anymore, the exhaustion or the longing, not when Buck is right there and looking at him as though he’s wonderful.

"Everyone's been grabbing me at the station lately. They keep pulling me to the side to ask me if you're doing okay," Buck says. "And I've been so fucking confused by it, because it's literally been _all_ of them - every single one of them have noticed something that’s made them wonder about you, and I haven't noticed a damn thing. And it's been driving me mad, because I feel like _I_ should notice if something's wrong with you before anyone else does, seeing how much time I spend with you, watching you."

It makes sense. He and Buck are together all the time; they’re keeping track of each other on calls and they’re leaning into each other when they're lounging around at the firehouse. If Eddie hadn't made it his mission to act normal around Buck specifically, then Buck definitely _would_ have been the first one to tell that something was off - he always is when it comes to everything else in Eddie’s life.

Eddie can't say it though. He’s too tired to say _anything_ , so he just breathes out heavily. Feels his chest brush against Buck’s – feels seeds taking root, invisible petals of bruises most likely blooming beneath his sweater, above his heart, where the soft collision just happened.

"You're not avoiding me. You've not ducked away. You invited me here tonight," Buck ponders, watching him, keeping their gazes locked. His eyes are so beautiful, so earnest. He's so desperate to understand and it _hurts_ Eddie that he can't give Buck this one thing, that he can't give Buck everything he asks for. "But then I got here, and all night you've been looking at me as though I'm hurting you and I don't know how to _fix_ _it_ , Eddie. I don't know what I've _done_ to you - what I should do to make it better."

The pain in his voice is so raw, so unedited. Buck’s heart is bleeding to underline those words. Eddie can’t ignore that, can’t face another day if he lets Buck believe that he has done something wrong or that he has hurt Eddie in any way.

"I'm in love with you, Buck," Eddie says quietly, forcing himself not to look away. "You can't help that, it's not your fault."

Buck looks back at him, takes him in. The way all the pieces are falling into place in his mind is visible all over his expression, but it remains soft. Gently lit up by the lamp, and absolutely beautiful.

"You're seriously not going to let me take the credit for that?” he questions, an amused quirk to his mouth to enhance the kind hues of his eyes.

Eddie breathes out amusement in Buck’s face and finds himself smiling despite the mess of it all, because Buck is still Buck. The aftermath of his confession isn't Buck rolling off the couch to get away from him. Buck is still the same Buck who never judges him or the way he feels.

Eddie closes his eyes; allows himself a moment alone with that realization so that he can cherish it, soak it up with all senses. It battles with all the pain inside of him for a while - finds a way to co-exist in there, crowded in-between lungs and heart where nothing feels quite as hollow anymore.

Buck's palm eases its way into the moment eventually. It's big and heavy when Buck fits it to Eddie's waist, and it weighs Eddie down nicely - anchors him a little more in reality. He can feel himself breathe beneath it, can embrace a future where their friendship will still be the same because Buck is just as calm and still as he only ever seems to be next to Eddie. That hasn’t changed.

"You have to start telling me when you're in pain, Eddie," Buck murmurs. There's a note of hurt present in his voice when he says it, and it sounds so rough and insistent that Eddie feels guilty for keeping it all quiet. " _Talk_ to me. Let me kiss you better."

Eddie swallows thickly. Whispers, "Okay."

He thinks he'll try to sleep now, that he'll let himself be lulled by the encompassing warmth and by the secure weight of Buck's hand on him where it’s dulling all the pain.

" _Okay_ ," Buck echoes from somewhere far away, and kisses him.

It's soft, spun out of a dream and manifesting itself upon Eddie’s couch. Buck’s fingers are curling a little at Eddie's waist, pressing into fabric and flesh and making it even more real, and Eddie finds himself exhaling shakily over Buck's mouth, making a confused noise.

"I've been here all along, you idiot," Buck hums. "In love, with you. Always with you"


End file.
